


A Little Boy

by tinylights



Series: I'll Follow, No Matter Where [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Growing Up Together, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, a bit of violence, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 5,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinylights/pseuds/tinylights
Summary: A little boy thought he'd live a short, quiet life.The boy soon learned otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! just so you're aware, the chapters in this fic will vary wildly in length. some will be tiny, like this one, and some will be drastically larger. i'll post chapters in groups of three twice per week.
> 
> hope you enjoy!

A little boy squinted into the hazy Brooklyn sunset, gripping his pencil with one hand and balancing his worn sketchbook on his knee with the other. The cool metal bars of the fire escape dug into his back, but he barely noticed.


	2. Chapter 2

A little boy coughed himself awake, his thin frame convulsing violently. The boy’s mother rushed into the room, wrapping an arm around her son and crooning softly to him, wishing with all her heart that she could scrape together the money to help more.


	3. Chapter 3

A little boy swung a bony fist straight across the cheek of one much bigger than he. The sneering, hulking figure snatched the little boy's wrist, twisting it behind his back and holding it there, laughing in cruel amusement. 

The little boy faintly heard a voice through his efforts to ignore the thick wall of pain pressing in on him. 

"Stop it."

The grip on the little boy's arm loosened, then released altogether.

"Hey!" the strange voice uttered, "I said stop it. Pick on someone your own size."

The little boy turned around to see something he'd never seen before: someone was standing between him and his attackers. The crowd of bullies closed in with a chorus of disbelieving remarks.

The unknown boy spoke again: "What'd he even do to ya, anyway?"

The little boy flinched as the leader spoke up. "We didn't do nothin’, did we, Stevie?"

Face contorted with rage, the little boy spat back, "You know what you did."

"Why, I ain't done-"

The little boy surged forward, but the mediator held out a hand to stop him in his tracks. "Hey, leave it. You," he added to the offenders, "deserve whatever ya damn well got."

"’re you sayin-"

The unfamiliar boy wound up a tight fist and planted it square in the leader's nose. "Leave him alone!"

The small crowd of children shuffled away throwing glares over their shoulders, leaving the little boy huffing and bloody and the new boy beside him with sore knuckles.

"I had ‘em on the ropes," the little boy muttered.

The boy turned kind eyes to the breathless voice. "I know ya did. Bucky," he said, thrusting a calloused hand out toward the other child’s small frame.

"Steve," the little boy mumbled, placing his thin hand in the other's strong grip and shaking once.


	4. Chapter 4

A little boy gazed out over Brooklyn from between the bars of the fire escape, falling asleep where he sat to the sounds of passing traffic and the occasional shout. The heat of the night pressed in on him from all sides, soaking his clothes in moisture. Distantly, he thought of the boy he'd met earlier that day.

For the first time, he might have a friend.


	5. Chapter 5

A little boy sat alone in a corner of the schoolyard, his pencil scratching softly over the small piece of paper he'd brought outside. Without looking up, he noted footsteps getting worryingly close. Bracing for a fight, he turned to see a familiar figure leaning over to see what he was doing.

Bucky.

"Hiya. Whatcha drawin’?"

"Hi," Steve muttered. "Uh, it's nothing-"

"Wow," Bucky whistled, "that's amazing! I didn't know ya could do that!"

A thin blush bloomed its way over Steve's cheeks. "Thanks."

"It looks so real." Bucky shot a quick glance over the schoolyard before returning his gaze to the paper. "It's just like how it is now, even with where everybody is and everything."

Steve nodded. "Thanks."

"Can you- I mean- wouldja ever wanna draw me?"

"S-sure!"

Bucky smiled. "Great! I'll let ya get back to it." He pushed himself to standing, but Steve reached out and caught him by the cuff of his sleeve.

"Wait."

Bucky turned, and Steve found himself at a loss for words for a moment. "I could draw you now, if you want."

"Really? Okay!" Bucky sat back down, turning to face Steve and resting his chin in his hands, his elbows planted firmly on his knees.

Steve flipped his paper over and began to draw.


	6. Chapter 6

A little boy sat as close to bolt upright as his crooked spine would allow, watching his teacher with feigned attention as he let his mind wander. He thought about how many hours were left in the day, how his mother was doing, what he would draw next. He tried not to think of the fact that his lunch, along with the breath in his chest and the relative lack of pain he’d woken up with that morning, had been stolen on the walk to school. And the fact that he’d had an apple in his lunch that day. 

He’d been looking forward to that apple.

The bell let out a harsh rattle, and the children lined up with their lunches to go outside. Steve reached out for his coat, hesitated, and let his hand fall. If the other kids weren’t bringing theirs, he wouldn’t bring his, and that was that.

He followed the line into the schoolyard, where he migrated to his usual corner. He sat down on the crunchy, dying grass, and reached for the pencil stub and scrap of paper that he kept in his pocket. His hand touched only air.

He'd left his coat inside.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and tipped his head back. “It’s not your day, Steve,” he muttered. “It’s just… not your day.”

“What?”

Steve’s eyes snapped open to the realization that a boy was standing before him with his head tilted to the side and a curious expression on his features.

“Uh. N-nothing. Hi.”

Bucky broke out a toothy grin and sat down criss-cross style beside Steve.

“Hey.” He looked at Steve for a moment, and his grin faltered. “Where’s your lunch?”

“Oh, um. I... forgot it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Mhmm. And I got an eyeball made a’ glass. Steve, what happened to your lunch?”

Steve tilted his head up to reveal a newly-formed scab on the edge of his jaw.

“Oh.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

“Well…” Bucky drawled, “y’ can have some of mine, if ya want. I got, um.” He pulled items out of his paper sack and placed them on the cold ground as he named each one.

Steve just shook his head.

“Why? Allergic or somethin’?”

“Kind of. Not to this. I’m… I don’t want to take your food.”

Bucky huffed and placed an apple and a piece of cheese wrapped in tinfoil in Steve’s lap. 

“I’ll keep the sandwich, you take that, deal?”

Steve looked like he was about to protest, so Bucky promptly took a huge mouthful of sandwich and chewed pointedly in his direction.

Rolling his eyes, Steve picked up the apple. “Fine. Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.”


	7. Chapter 7

A little boy smiled up at his friend's mother as she switched off the light and padded away. He shifted on his makeshift bed of couch cushions and a thick, scratchy blanket to turn towards Bucky, who was gazing down at Steve from his place on the stripped sofa.

"Hey," Bucky whispered.

"Hey," Steve answered.

"Can I tell ya somethin’?"

"Yes."

Bucky blinked sleepily. "I've been thinking."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think. . . I think you're my best friend." He paused. "’s that okay?"

"Yes."

Bucky smiled softly.

Steve could feel him slipping away. Thinking fast, he whispered, "Buck?"

Bucky's drooping eyelids didn't open. "Hmm?"

"You're mine. My best friend, I mean."

Bucky’s smile quietly returned to his face. "That's good."


	8. Chapter 8

A little boy coughed so hard his chest rattled and tears streamed down his face, his tiny form hunching in on itself and needles scraping his throat. His friend wrapped an arm around him as they walked. 

"Hey, hey," he murmured, "hey, Stevie, come back to me." He slipped out of his winter coat, wrapping it around his friend's shuddering shoulders. "Come on, ‘s just a little bit farther." He held up Steve's weakening form with one arm as they reached the steps of his apartment. "We're here, buddy." After helping him up the stairs, Bucky kicked aside the brick in front of the Rogers’s residence, picked up the key beneath it, and shoved it in the lock, supporting the limp, stumbling figure as they entered the apartment. 

"I'm-" Steve attempted weakly between coughs, "I'm fine, Buck- Bucky-"

"No, listen," Bucky murmured, placing his friend in a worn armchair, "I wanna help. What's going on, what can I do?"

"M-edicine," Steve uttered. "Bathroom. Bottle. One- one left."

Bucky swiveled on a foot and ran to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet until he found a bottle with a single pill resting at the bottom. He shook it out, snagged a glass from beside the sink, filled it halfway with water, and rushed back out to meet his friend.

"Here," he said, thrusting the objects to Steve.


	9. Chapter 9

A little boy smiled as he observed his friend. Bucky leaned casually against the stone school wall, talking up a dame who was clearly enthralled with him. 

He wished he had the same guts. 

Bucky turned to his friend, flashing a smile his way before turning back to the girl. After a bit, he nodded in Steve's direction and waved to her. She waved back shyly as he turned and strolled over to Steve.

"I think I just got a date. I gotta figure out how to scrape together the money for four tickets to the pictures."

"Four?” Steve asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Who else is going?"

"You, of course. She has a friend, so we'll all go. That okay?"

Steve smiled, his heart tightening in his chest. "Sure, Buck."


	10. Chapter 10

A little boy sat against a tree in a cemetery, tears flowing freely down his face. Hearing footsteps approaching, he swiped at his eyes and sniffed, trying to erase the evidence of the devastation that rocked him.

"Hey," a familiar voice murmured.

Steve's tears resumed in full force. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped thin arms around them, trying and failing to catch his breath.

Bucky lowered himself to the ground beside his friend and hesitated for a moment before drawing an arm around the bony frame.

Steve stiffened, then leaned into his friend, rubbing at his face with the edge of his sleeve.

"Wanna go home?" Bucky murmured.

Steve nodded.

The two pushed themselves up. Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets, walking in silence beside his friend until they reached the steps to Steve's home. 

When Steve turned to look at Bucky, moisture tracking down his reddened, blotchy cheeks, Bucky didn’t say a word. He kicked aside the brick that hid the key and stepped around the other boy, gently opening the door and inviting Steve into an apartment that would never feel like a place of belonging again with a soft point of pressure on his lower back.

Steve stopped just before stepping through the doorway. He drew in a rattling, wet breath, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and turned his eyes up to Bucky’s.

“Thank you, Buck, but... I can get by on my own.”

“The thing is,” Bucky responded softly, “you don’t have to.”

Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder, his expression earnest and genuine.

“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line, pal.”


	11. Chapter 11

A little boy walked up splintered, creaking stairs to the home he’d soon share with his friend. Steve had been struggling to pay the rent on his family’s apartment for quite some time, working three jobs and still barely scraping by even with the landlord giving him some slack. Upon prying Steve for this information over the course of several weeks, Bucky had insisted on moving in with his friend in order to split the rent between them. After much arguing, they had come to an agreement.

Steve fumbled with the lock for a moment before pushing the door open. "Home sweet home."

Bucky smirked at the cramped, dim, dilapidated space before them. He glanced at Steve and, face splitting into a grin, threw an arm across his shoulders.

“It sure is. C’mon, punk. Let’s get to work.”


	12. Chapter 12

A little boy shivered in his bed, the pitiful layer of blankets he had pulled over himself doing little to nothing to keep out the chill seeping through the cracks and fissures in the windows. He heard the muffled sounds of Bucky getting home from the night shift he thought Steve didn’t know about through papery, barely-standing walls. Light footsteps approached the door of their shared closet-of-a bedroom, pausing just outside. The door pushed halfway open with a creak, and Bucky leaned around the doorframe.

Steve tried to look like he was peacefully sleeping, but it was too late. Bucky had already seen his open eyes.

"Hey, punk," Bucky whispered.

Steve cracked open an eye to see Bucky leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched, and eyes creased and worn from long hours of labor. 

"Hey."

A fond smile softened Bucky’s gaze. "You cold?"

Steve sighed. "Freezing.”

Bucky nodded.

Before Steve could react, Bucky had moved across the room and stripped all two of the blankets from his bed, turning and plopping the fabric in a haphazard bundle atop Steve. He opened his mouth to protest, and Bucky shucked his thin coat from around his shoulders and placed it over him before he could get a word in.

"Buck-"

"I know, I know. You need ‘em, though." He turned to leave the room, paused, and looked back. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Buck."

"No problem."


	13. Chapter 13

A little boy sat in the windowsill, watching his friend out of the corner of his eye. He moved his pencil across the smooth page with a practiced precision, creating the curve of his friend's back as he leaned on the rail of the fire escape, casually smoking a cigarette. Turning to look at Steve, the corner of his friend’s mouth flicked upward in a smile. Steve hurried to capture it on paper.

"Whatcha drawing?"

"Hmm?"

Bucky shifted, pausing when Steve held up a hand to stop him. He grinned around a puff of smoke, turning back to gaze out at the city.


	14. Chapter 14

A little boy grew restless as reports of nefarious acts taking place overseas poured in from all around. His thoughts became consumed with only the desire to fight, to help, and more than anything, to protect. He couldn’t stand by and wait out the war, he just couldn’t. Not when souls were being ripped from the hands of their hosts and loved ones slipped through the grasps of those who were powerless to stop it. He could do something. He knew he could. 

“Alright, what’s goin’ on?”

Steve’s gaze snapped up, and he immediately ceased the frantic tapping of his feet on the worn wood floorboards surrounding their bedstand-turned-kitchen-table. “Uh. What?”

A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched. “You’re hiding somethin’ from me, Steve. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Buck, don’t worry about-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I know you, kid. Something’s up.”

Steve sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and shook his head. “I want to enlist.”

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. I figured.”

Taken aback, Steve blinked. “Y… you’re not trying to stop me.”

“Well,” Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes still closed, “I know you’re not gonna shut up about it until you try. I think it’s a terrible idea-” he held up a hand as Steve began to protest “-shut up, you know I’m right. They’re gonna reject you- a strong wind’ll blow you over, kid, and if it doesn’t, it’ll trigger a damn asthma attack and kill you- and you’re gonna be pissed, but you’ll be here and you’ll be safe, and-” he paused, sucking in a breath and cracking open steely eyes, “and I won’t have to worry about dragging you out of a fight you can’t win because I can’t be next to you all the time on a goddamn battlefield!”

Steve froze, blood running cold. “Wait. Buck, did you-”

Bucky swiped a hand through his hair and pointedly looked at anything but Steve. “I was drafted. I go out in three weeks.”

Steve stared at his friend, hurt and shock locking over his features. “Wh-when did this-”

“‘Few days ago.”

“And why,” Steve fumed, his voice a rasping whisper, “did you wait to tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to follow me.”

“Why the hell not?! You know they need as many guys as they can get out there, don’t you think I could-”

“They don’t need you!”

Silence dropped between the two, their harsh breaths the only sound grating through the air as they stared at each other. 

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the floor. “They don’t need you,” he repeated under his breath. He shoved himself away from the table and thudded across the room, flinging the door wide and slamming it shut behind him.


	15. Chapter 15

A little boy tried his very best to follow his only friend to war, but everywhere he went, he was rejected. Not one of the recruiters gave Steve a glance. When a German doctor fighting on the side of freedom gave Steve an opening, he didn't think twice.


	16. Chapter 16

A little boy sat upright on his bed, staring at the cracked, time-stained drywall across the room and trying to ignore the gaping emptiness surrounding him. It had been hours since he’d last seen his friend, and he was beginning to think those hours were the start of months. Possibly years.

Bucky was scheduled to ship out in the morning. As far as Steve could tell, it was already past midnight, and he hadn’t seen Bucky since the World Exposition of Tomorrow that evening.

He played and replayed their last exchange, trying not to think of the fact that it could have been their last.

Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.

How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.

Steve let his head fall between hunched shoulders.

He sat in silence for an indefinite amount of time, and when he next opened his eyes, he was curled in the middle of his stiff mattress, a blanket tucked around his shoulders. A figure sat on the edge of Bucky’s bed with its head bent and a pencil in its hand, seeming to be forming rushed letters on a sheet of paper rumpled in its lap. Steve blinked.

“Buck?”

The figure turned, and Steve could make out its tight grin even through the darkness enveloping the room.

“Hey, punk. Go back to sleep, I’m almost gone.”

“Don’t want to sleep,” Steve muttered drowsily, even as he felt his eyelids becoming heavy again.

“Yeah, well, you should. ‘S not like there’s anything either of us can do about it.”

“‘It?’”

Bucky turned back to the paper and continued to write. “Leavin’.”

Steve was drifting away now. “‘m right behind you, y’know.”

“... go to sleep, Steve.”


	17. Chapter 17

A little boy trained as hard as he possibly could. He noted the difference in height alone between himself and the others, but that hardly discouraged him. It served only to feed his determination, that fire burning deep in his gut. He would fight for his country. He would fight for everyone who couldn't.


	18. Chapter 18

A little boy passed countless tests. He had calculated his way through trials that even the burliest, biggest men couldn't solve. 

He was selected for an experiment.


	19. Chapter 19

A little boy was scared out of his mind, strapped into a contraption with God knows how many switches and gadgets built into it. He was to be injected with a serum that would supposedly turn him from a little boy to a super soldier. Needles sank into his arms and steel walls closed around him. A scream ripped through him as blinding pain slammed against every nerve in his body. Faintly, he heard shouting outside of his capsule.

"Stop! Shut it down-"

"No!” he cried, prying apart his clenched teeth, “I can do this!"


	20. Chapter 20

A little boy sat in the form of a man much bigger than he was ever meant to be, scratching a pencil deftly across a page with hands that seemed far too large to be his own. A woman joined him, mentioning exactly what had been on his mind.

"You were meant for much more than this, you know."


	21. Chapter 21

A little boy couldn't seem to catch his breath. Fear clotted thickly in his chest, clutching at his lungs and dragging his mind over the same jagged, broken thought: 

Bucky.

"Please just check this name, sir, B-A-R-"


	22. Chapter 22

A little boy raced forward, his footsteps echoing down the dim hallway and back to his ears. Slowing to a stop, he saw the stunted form of the Swiss scientist trotting away. He debated for a moment whether he should follow him or see where he had come from.

His decision changed his life forever.


	23. Chapter 23

A little boy sat in front of a flickering fire, surrounded by his comrades. The cold brushed his shoulder blades, winding down his limbs and dissolving in the heat that lapped at his hands.

"So here we are," he muttered.

Dugan glanced up briefly from cleaning his gun. Bucky gave him a nod, staring into the flames.

Steve sighed, his hand alighting on Bucky's shoulder and resting there.

A smile flashed across the sniper's face. "Don't get all soft on me, punk," he murmured, barely loud enough for Steve to hear, enhanced hearing and all. He didn't look up from the fire.


	24. Chapter 24

A little boy became grateful that he could live without getting as much sleep as he had needed before. His comrades needed him to keep watch. Perhaps even more importantly to Steve, though: his friend needed him.

Bucky played it tough around the rest of the Howling Commandos. He smirked, joked, drank, and smoked with the rest of them, but Steve knew it was a facade. The curl of his lips was stiff and sharp. His jests were so much more forced than Steve knew they should have been. He greedily drank his way through bottle after bottle without tasting it, even if it was so awful that not a single one of the others would touch it, and he sucked down cigarettes like he was trying to set his lungs on fire.

The nightmares were the worst part.

Steve began to subsist off of two hours of rest per night at the very most, keeping watch for the rest of the night despite the group’s frequent protests. He kept his eyes trained on the surrounding area, scanning for threats from the outside while listening for telltale muffled screams.

On this particular night, Steve was hopeful that his friend might possibly get a solid four hours of sleep. Dawn was approaching, and Steve hadn’t heard a single shift from the direction of Bucky’s tent all night. He sighed, rested his eyes on the graying horizon, and attempted to release some of the tension he perpetually held within his muscles by rubbing his shoulder with a still-too-large hand.

He was considering the possibility of starting a fire when a strangled cry rose from within one of the canvas shelters.

Steve shot to his feet and strode to the tent, shouldering through the opening and crouching beside his still-thrashing friend.

“Buck. Bucky! Wake up, it’s not real!”

Bucky didn’t respond. His eyelids had risen, but only the whites of his eyes were visible through his lashes. His head whipped from side to side, and he let out guttural moans through gritted teeth.

Steve wanted so badly to reach out, to give him a physical anchor, but he knew from experience that that would only worsen Bucky’s unconscious state of panic.

“Buck!”

Bucky sat bolt upright with a final shout, throwing his head back and forth as he took in the enclosed space. He didn’t seem to see Steve at first; his bright gaze passed right over him several times before it rested somewhere around his shoulders.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve said weakly, reaching out and curling a hand around Bucky’s damp forearm.

He received a nod in return, Bucky’s chest still heaving and sweat dripping from his body in rivulets.

“Same dream?”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his eyes and coughed, nodding again.

“You wanna talk about it?”

He was silent for a long moment, staring blankly at the ground with his jaw working.

“Needles,” he finally croaked, folding his arms over his chest. “Scalpels. Pumping me full of- of God knows what, Steve, I don’t-”

“I know, Buck,” Steve assured him, lowering himself from his heels to his knees beside his silently shaking friend with a hollow feeling settling in his chest. “I know.”


	25. Chapter 25

A little boy fought alongside his friend every day, but instead of the old familiar setting of a grimy back alley, they fought in forests, secret bases, burnt-out towns, and wherever else there was someone who just wouldn’t quit until Captain America shoved his shield through their face.

Steve knew he couldn’t do it alone, though.

Not only did he have the entire team of Howling Commandos at his side on the battlefield, but he also had the invisible presence of the best sniper in the U.S. Army watching his back. Every time he even became close to being jumped from his blind spot, a shot rang out and a thud sounded behind him- a perfect kill, every time. Steve never knew where Bucky was or how he was possibly watching every one of the team at once, but he was certain that his friend knew exactly what he was doing.

He trusted him with his life. He always had.


	26. Chapter 26

A little boy had gone into this particular mission with a clear head and a hope that this could be it. This could be the one where they finally caught Zola.

Nobody else would die by his hand. No one else would be captured or tortured. No more nightmares would shake the sleep of how many hundreds of soldiers he might still capture.

Bucky and Steve had entered the train side-by-side, but Bucky fell behind for just a few seconds, and the doors between the cars slammed shut between them.

Steve had’t been extremely worried at first; he knew that Bucky was capable of protecting himself, and they each had their own Hydra goons to deal with.

Once Steve’s attacker blasted one of the doors open, Steve disabled him, ran through the opening, and opened the second barrier. He tossed a gun to a crouched and ammunition-less Bucky before racing in after him and taking out the man as a team.

“I had him on the ropes,” his friend muttered.

“I know you did.”

Without even a second to regroup, the world began to crumble.

Steve’s stomach dropped at the sound of a weapon charging behind them. He flung up the shield to protect his friend, and the blast ricocheted off the shield and smashed a gaping hole in the side of the train. Steve was thrown to the opposite side of the car, and he looked on in dazed horror as Bucky took up the shield and tried to hold his own. A single blast flashed out of the opposer’s weapon, and suddenly, Bucky was hurled out into the cold. With a cry, Steve took out the attacker and raced to the opening.

“Bucky!”

He was still holding on, he was still holding on, there was still a chance. Steve climbed out as far as he dared into the whipping wind and thrust his hand toward his friend, desperation coursing through his veins.

“Take my hand!”

The corner of the bar Bucky clung to snapped off the side of the speeding vessel with a sickening clang.

“NO-”


	27. Chapter 27

A little boy poured bottle after bottle into the wound in his chest, but it just wasn’t enough. His enhanced cells regenerated too quickly; he couldn’t get drunk. His body wouldn’t let him forget.

But oh, how he wanted to forget.

He sat in the bombed-out shell of a once-familiar tavern, poured himself another glass of something that tasted strong but not strong enough, and tried to get that scream out of his mind- that scream that tore a part of Steve off the train with him as his friend had fallen into the gaping chasm below with an arm still outstretched to grip Steve’s own.

He drank to forget all the mornings he’d spent hunched over gritty instant coffee in silence with him, all the nights he’d kicked about Brooklyn with a brunet at his side, and all the days in between where the two got up to god-knows-what. He drank to forget the canvas walls of a tent that wasn’t his own and the midnight screams they contained, drank to forget the dead weight of half-unconsciousness at his side when Steve had lifted him from the steel table in the Hydra base and that sense of elation that had made his heart light and sent his head spinning when he realized that his friend was alive. He drank to forget bruised knuckles, crooked grins, pencil stubs, cigarette smoke, crumpled newspapers, apple cores...

He drank to forget him.

He couldn’t even stand to think his name.


	28. Chapter 28

A little boy had something dark settled around his heart. He carried on without his friend, but he didn’t go willingly, and he certainly didn’t go easily. If it were up to him, he’d have gone back and walked those treacherous tracks alone, leaping off exactly where he’d seen his friend fall if only to know his fate for certain. Steve knew there was a chance he’d survive the fall with his enhancements, he _knew_ there was, but he couldn’t. He had a duty now- a new mission.

 

He wouldn’t stop until all of Hydra was dead or captured.


	29. Chapter 29

A little boy fell hard to the ground, kicked, punched, and bloodied, satisfaction boiling in his blood with each blow he received. He was close, he was _here_ , and he had a chance to stop his adversary.

Finally.

Steve sat up, breath heaving and body shaking with adrenaline.

“I can do this all day.”


	30. Chapter 30

A little boy had run out of options, and he was well aware of it. The Red Skull had been defeated, Arnim Zola was behind bars, and the deadly tesseract was at the bottom of the ocean. He knew Hydra would no longer be an issue- “cut off one head, two more shall take it’s place,” but what happens when you rip out its heart?

The only loose end he could see was this aircraft, chock-full of explosives and speeding on a set course towards New York.

Steve knew what had to happen.

One last time, he reached for the radio.


	31. Chapter 31

A little boy desperately tried to express everything he had ever wanted to say to his best girl over an airplane radio, looking at her now-long-memorized picture on the inside lid of his compass and willing her to understand his choice.

“We’ll have the band play something slow.” He paused, watching the icy, unforgiving waters of the Atlantic racing up towards him. 

In that split second, he found that he didn’t feel fear. He didn’t really feel anything. 

Steve took in a breath and continued. 

“I’d hate to step on your-”

The ocean met the nose of the aircraft with a crash, and Steve closed his eyes with a gasp as freezing water rushed into the cabin around him.

He could feel the serum fighting from within his veins, willing him to stay afloat, to keep warm, to do _something_.

Involuntarily, he heaved in a breath. Icy knives slashed his lungs as they quickly filled with the relentless cold.

The little boy did not open his eyes.

His mission had been completed. His country was safe.

He had won justice for his friend.

 

For Bucky.


	32. JBB

~~_Steve_ ~~

~~_Punk_ ~~

_Hey._

~~_Listen, I_ ~~

_I’m not leaving behind some fragile-hearted dame here, so I’ll keep this letter short._

_First off, the rent is paid completely for two months. Use the money on food and a doctor if you need it._

_I asked around, and Mr. Putter can get you a job stocking groceries. It might not be glamorous, but I remember you saying how much you hate just doing odd jobs and waiting for the end of the day._

_I know you’re not happy that I’m not there. Hell, I’m not happy that I’m not there. ~~Who the hell is gonna be there f~~ I can’t constantly watch your back anymore, kid, so you’re gonna have to behave for once in your goddamn life._

_I know how important it is to you to do the right thing. Maybe the right thing here is to sit a couple out._

~~_I_ ~~   
_Take care of yourself._

_JBB_


End file.
